JESS WOKE the next morning to the sound of Mrs Arnold snoring. Sunlight bled through the tiny slit in the curtains, and she could hear staff bustling around the kitchen as they prepared pub lunches.
‘What time is it?’ Jess rolled over and looked at her watch. ‘Eleven o’clock!’ She sat up and the bed swung beneath her like a hammock. ‘We’ll have to leave soon. Mum and Dad are expecting me home tonight!’
Luke was back at his property, and Mrs Arnold . . . Jess immediately began doing sums in her head. If she could get Mrs Arnold conscious within an hour, the seven-hour drive might get her home before dark . . . if she really pushed it. ‘Hell!’
Jess glanced across the room at a lump of purple chenille with a maroon beanie and messy black curls at one end, steel-capped boots hanging out the other. The bedspread rose and fell with each snore.
‘I’ve got no hope,’ said Jess.
She caught her image in the mirror over the small dresser. Her chin was red with stubble rash. She felt Luke’s lips over hers again, closed her eyes and melted into the memory of her back pressing against the flooded gum, his breath on her skin. She couldn’t remember ever finding it so hard to tear herself away from a cold, wet paddock in the middle of the night. But the rain had come down more heavily and soon they had been forced inside.
Luke had laughed at her chattering teeth and led her to the warmth of the pub fire. Kitty had locked up the bar and left them there, declaring them family and telling them to leave via the kitchen door when they felt like it.
‘Family,’ Kitty had called Luke. ‘A local.’ And although her heart warmed to see him so embraced by a community of people, Jess also felt a nagging fear, which she tried to ignore. Coachwood Crossing had been his home, but now he had an entire community in another state, hours away.
From the purple chenille came a low moan. ‘Carrrnnn the mighty maroons . . . ’
‘Oh God, you’re still drunk,’ said Grace, appearing in the doorway.
‘Wasn’t my fault,’ murmured Mrs Arnold. ‘It was for a noble cause. Oh Lordy, my head.’ An arm flopped down the side of the saggy bed, then there was no further movement. She began snoring again.
‘Very noble,’ said Grace, looking down her nose at her mother.
‘I told my parents I’d be back for dinner,’ said Jess, hurriedly stuffing her things into her bag. She had to get home. Any more misadventures would jeopardise the entire brumby arrangement with her parents.
As she spoke, Luke appeared in the doorway, breathless. ‘There are more brumby-runners up in the hills, heaps of them. I just overheard in the dunnies. There’s a big run on today.’
Jess’s heart missed a beat. ‘What?’
‘We’ve got to stop them,’ Luke panted.
‘How?’ said Jess, reaching for her jeans and pulling them on over her boxers. ‘I have to be back in Coachwood Crossing by the end of the day.’
Luke glanced around the room. His gaze settled on Mrs Arnold. ‘Ask Mrs Arnold. Wake her up.’
‘You wake her up,’ said Grace.
Luke went momentarily silent. ‘She wouldn’t be able to drive you home anyway, the state she’s in.’
‘I thought you were going to drive me home,’ said Jess.
He groaned. ‘Won’t your parents give you one more day?’
‘No way, school tomorrow. Luke, I promised them. You promised them.’
‘There are people running brumbies up on the mountain right now. What do you want to do? It’s your call.’ He looked anxious, one foot out the door. She could see him silently praying for the answer he wanted.
Jess grabbed her jacket. ‘Okay. Let’s go. We’ll sort the rest out later.’
Luke instantly vanished from the doorway. Grace scrawled a note for her comatose mother as Jess ran after him.
Jess dived into the back of the ute, grabbed the roll bar and felt the car lurch into gear. Grace tumbled in beside her. Luke sent the car fishtailing over the gravelly road and they hurtled towards Matty’s Creek.